


Old-Fashioned

by fixomnia



Series: An Old-Fashioned Romance [1]
Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12003744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixomnia/pseuds/fixomnia
Summary: Jamie and Eddie stumble upon an old-fashioned recipe for romance.Season 7 through to pre-Season 8, the way it should have ended. With a nice cold classic drink to wind down the summer.





	1. One Cube of Sugar

November 18, 2016  
Eddie’s place

 

“What d’you think?” she asked, smoothing down the front of her dress.

She knew she looked damn fine, and she knew Jamie would certainly appreciate the hug of her dress against her ass. But what about his friends? Was a cut-out, silvery number too night-clubby for the upwardly mobile corporate Harvard set? Were her biceps too muscled, too ready to tackle someone to the pavement, next to the willowy spa-pampered women she anticipated? Was she trying too hard at being a girl? And why should she care? It wasn’t like she was going to be inviting them to _her_ wedding any time soon, right?

There was no reason she should have a flock of butterflies taking up residence in the pit of her stomach, but there they were. And to her chagrin, under Jamie’s quiet scrutiny, they were quickly turning into little tremors of hunger. The gleam in his eyes, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed despite himself, and the really, really well-cut suit that hung perfectly on his trim frame. In his uniform, he could look absurdly young, next to the older male cops with the Jimmy Stewart shoulders and jowly chins. Jamie was so typically Irish, strong and wiry, ageless. But in a suit like that, projecting his usual understated confidence...

Her turn to swallow.

“I think, if I was the bride, I’m calling in sick,” he told her seriously. “Because you are going to steal the show.”

She let a grin spread across her face, stepped towards him, and somehow avoided running her fingers down his neatly pressed shirtfront, or even kissing him senseless.

_Thanks, pal. What a supportive wingman. 'Cause that's all this is supposed to be._

“You don’t look too shabby yourself, Mister Reagan.”

“Yeah?” He tried for casual, but she knew where to look for that inward smile. "Thanks."

She made sure he got an eyeful to remember her by, as he followed her out the door.

It was probably madness to have come even this far, but they were committed now. Jamie had invited her to be his plus-one almost by instinct. Who else would he want to go with, he’d said. They were best friends. Why should it be weird?

 _Men_ , she rolled her eyes mentally. Do they even realize what weddings do to people? The romance, the music and dancing, everyone looking and acting their very best? And they were planning to use this as an opportunity to prove to each other that they really could just concentrate on being friends, and not let other feelings interfere. With hotel rooms conveniently across the hall from each other.

She found herself agreeing anyway. It wasn’t as if she had anything else going on, and the thought of sitting in her apartment alone while he was out dancing with dressed-up Harvard women geniuses, was too much to bear. Not with the memory of that fleeting, desperate little kiss just last week, and the words they couldn't take back once spoken, and the thousand other things their eyes had wanted to say. The taste of his mouth still lingered, and the way he gathered her in close. And the half-second of speculation that seemed to stretch out for long minutes, until with one last shred of conviction, she'd put an end to the encounter and quite literally fled the scene.

She was still kicking herself, even if she knew it was the only sane decision. She was grudgingly grateful today they hadn't crossed any more lines. And if she wasn't a cop, with a cop’s hypervigilance and security sense, she was pretty sure she'd end up finding a way to get a spare door card for her hotel room tonight. ( _If she wasn't a cop, none of this would matter,_ she grumbled to herself.) Let him know it was his choice, if he wanted to walk on the wild side with her for a couple of stolen days that didn’t have to matter. She could least admit the temptation, and rely on the fact that she’d never have sex anywhere that might have cameras, illicit or otherwise, or insecure doors.

Down at the street, Jamie held open the door of the cab for her. She rewarded him with a candid once-over, and began compiling a stack of mental images of him, in his hotel bed a few hours later, thinking of her too, just a few feet away.

Because, dammit, he _did_ matter.

 *  *  *  *  *

 

November 20, 2016  
Bix’ Basement Jazz and Supper Club

 

He couldn’t blame her for not showing. It was hardly their usual sort of place, and between them, they had more baggage now than they’d had packed for the hotel. But he’d wanted to apologize, in a more substantive way than words would convey. Make up for the last dance they’d missed, their last foreseeable chance at being an ordinary non-cop couple for a while, all dressed up and on best behavior. And, he told himself, to do so without acting like a selfish, sulky, overprotective idiot in public and getting them both arrested for disturbing the peace. At least the JP had released them, as soon as morning came around and they’d had a chance to explain.

“I see you two are partners at Twelve House in the city,” she said finally, reading from a note.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Chanted in perfect schoolroom unison.

“Nothing more?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Absolutely not, ma’am.”

Her Honor had eyed the two of them in their post-melée wedding gear. “Uh-huh. Go home. Behave. Dismissed with no charges.”

He’d wanted to dance with her. Of course he had. He knew she was hurt that he’d left her to her own devices and gone out of his way to not act like her date. But he hadn’t expected there to be any other cops nearby of the sort who might enjoy carrying a tidbit of hot gossip back to his precinct where it could fester and cause trouble. And he really didn’t know if he could be too near Eddie cranked to eleven, at her most gorgeous, unguarded, _absolutely fucking amazing_ -smelling, without caving in completely. He didn’t have Eddie’s facility for casual conversation with new people, or her ability to touch people as a sort of friendly punctuation. Dancing with Eddie, the way he just knew they would dance together, would be a statement of intent, not a social dance.

So he’d ended up channeling his inner Joe, and watched over her instead. Just to make sure she got back to the hotel in good shape and only with the company she chose, he told himself. Sure, Eddie could handle herself, but she shouldn’t have to be on her guard _all_ the time, right? Not if he had her back like a good partner. He even convinced himself she’d be sort of grateful that he’d stayed out of her hair and kept the knuckleheads away from her.

He checked his watch and sighed. Forty minutes was no longer 'running late', and it wasn’t as though she could have been called on duty. In fact, they had been relegated to daytime desk duty until their black eyes had reduced to “a somewhat more professional appearance on our streets”, as the Lieutenant had rumbled at them.

He paid up at the bar, feeling morose if he had to admit it, and was turning to leave when he caught that same light, clean perfume on the air. He felt his heart stutter even before he saw her, and when he did, he couldn’t even pretend not to stare. If he’d known she had all those perfectly flattering little outfits in her closet like the ones she’d been wearing these past few days, he’d have been in even more trouble.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, with an oddly shy smile. He knew the slight fuzziness of her focus when she’d been drinking, and he hoped that meant she wasn’t on any painkillers for the lingering shiner over her cheek. So she wasn’t so much mad at him as conflicted about seeing him, he thought, with a lightening sensation.

“Just glad you made it,” he assured her. He was aware that their eyes were carrying on some other whole conversation, begging to be understood, and he really didn’t care.

She turned into his arms and moved with his steps as if they’d been rehearsing, which made sense, considering how many partner scenarios and marching drills they’d performed over the years. But dancing with Eddie was something else altogether. He was deeply aware of how gracefully she moved in his arms, how she leaned into him in a way that left him feeling sort of wrecked and protective and in total awe of her powerful self, all at once.

There was only one thing they needed to talk about, after all, and Eddie, bravely, took the first line.

“You ever think about what we might be missing out on?” She wasn’t asking him to reconsider, he knew. Just to make sure that what they’d decided was _mutual_ and _for the best_ , and whatever other horrible rationalizations applied.

 _Only every day,_ he wanted to say. If it was just working off a sexual buzz, they’d have been at it ages ago, and probably over it by now. Feelings, as they’d both admitted, were different things altogether. And what he was missing, precisely, was Eddie Janko firmly in his life as his best friend and lover and whatever else they might come to be to each other. Making a life together, built around that relationship.

Not much of a problem, for nearly any other professional working couple. But for them it would mean rarely seeing each other, never tapping into that private radio connection that made them such a great duo at work, never raising the bar for each other and feeling excited about every shift. And who could say if it would even work out, or end up wrecking a truly great partnership?

“ _You have a type,”_ Erin had levelled at him, quite correctly, if he was honest with himself.

“ _You are not even close to my type_ ,” Eddie had insisted, before pouncing on him.

No, no complications there.

“Yup.” He knew she’d extrapolate his meaning. “You ever think about what we’d be giving up?” he asked in turn, which might have come across with a little more impact if he hadn’t been playing with her fingertips and feeling her breath hitch.

She nodded, a little broken. “Yup.”

A busy downtown jazz club was just a temporary alternate universe in which to hide in plain sight, and he knew it would end very soon. But just for now, with her hand resting over his heart and his head dropped down to drown in the softness of her hair and the waver of her breath against his skin, he knew that no force on earth was going to make him let go until they’d had their dance.


	2. A Couple Shakes of Bitters

March 17, 2017  
NYPD 12th Precinct

 

He was stirring his first coffee of the night shift in the break room when Eddie wandered in, in her comfiest jeans and suede jacket, pulling out a hair tie as she walked. She looked exhausted, he thought, the characteristic sparkle gone from her eyes, and dark circles beneath. She tipped a coffee cup and a double handful of snack wrappers from her pockets into the garbage, and didn’t seem to see him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Reagan,” she tossed back, too casually.

No eye contact. He tried again: “Wait, weren’t you starting a morning shift when I left yesterday?”

“Uh huh.”

“Aw, a full double? One of those cases, huh?”

“You know what? You’re not my partner anymore, so how about you don’t worry about it?”

“I – what’d I say? Just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Jeez, okay, forget it.”

He went back to his coffee, confused. He and Eddie often went round and round when they had to work something out of their systems, but this felt different. Did a few weeks of being split up as partners make such a difference? He’d hoped they might take the opportunity to see how they functioned as non-partners. Just, you know, for information’s sake. But now that he thought about it, she was almost always on duty when he was, even when he worked extra shifts or went overtime. Had Eddie caught one of those hellish cases that never seemed to end, or had she been roped into an undercover gig she couldn’t talk about? He could hardly call her out for that, since he’d done the same to her, back in the day.

He was pondering all of this, frowning into his coffee, when she poked her head around the door. “Reagan.”

“Yo.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice back in its normal register, not tight with tension. “Really. I’m trying to make bank for a vacation somewhere, and I’m probably overdoing it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he nodded. “Just take care of yourself, okay? You deserve a break.”

She stepped into the room, almost cautiously. “What about you? Didn’t you have some leave time coming up a while ago?”

 _Back when I was halfway to thinking we might stay at the hotel for a couple extra days after the wedding,_ he thought, _before things blew up and got complicated again. As if a secret weekend away and a partners-with-benefits hookup here and there wouldn’t be the very opposite of us._

“I postponed,” he said. “Might see about borrowing a cabin on Long Island for a fishing trip later on. Got a few family friends with beach houses who’re usually happy to put up with me.”

“Must be nice, having friends like that,” she replied, and her voice seemed to slide from friendly to wistful to downright bitchy, in the space of two seconds. How on earth, he wondered, did she do that, and more to the point, why?

“Eddie, is this anything to do with – ”

She scrubbed the back of her hand over her forehead and grimaced. “Ugh. I hate myself today. Jamie, forget I was here. Please. I’m not feeling so great. I’m going home.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said absently, and legged it out of the break room.

 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

He was even quieter than usual, working through documentation at his desk. Potimkin and Renzulli had almost given up trying to draw him out when his cellphone rang near midnight. _Eddie_.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“Jamie?” She sounded far away.

“Yeah, Eddie, what’s up?”

“Jamie, I’m not doing so good…”

He had spun his chair around and grabbed his car keys before she finished speaking. “What do you need? I’m on my way.”

“I’m so sorry. I forgot I was out of Tylenol, and this fever isn’t going down,” she broke off with a wracking cough that sounded painful, “Ugh. And now that, too. I hate to ask.”

“Forget about it. I’ll go by the pharmacy and be there in twenty minutes, okay? I’m coming.”

“Your girl that sick?” Renzulli asked with concern, as Jamie gestured a quick farewell.

“Yeah. Sounds pretty bad. Never heard her like this.”

“Go, go.” His sergeant waved him off.

 

Jamie was paying for a small pile of meds grabbed hastily at a late night pharmacy before he replayed that little conversation. Who on earth were they fooling? Apparently not Renzulli. But he had seemed kind of…approving. _Maybe splitting us up was his idea of a favor?_ he thought. _If everyone thinks we’re an item anyway._

In another five minutes he was jogging up the stairs to Eddie’s third-floor walk-up, and finding her key by feel in the dim stairwell. He knocked and then unlocked the door, finding the apartment dark and silent.

“Hello?”

“Here. I’m in here,” she rasped, from the bathroom.

He frowned. That wasn’t good. Rounding the corner, he nudged the door open, and his stomach dropped. Eddie, illuminated only by the streetlight from outside the window, was slumped on the tile floor in a soft gray t-shirt and sleep shorts, leaning her head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. He hit the light switch and saw flecks of red in the sink. _Oh, God, what was this now?_

“Whoa, Eddie, are you coughing up blood?” He sank down beside her and pulled her upright to rest against him. He swept her hair off her forehead and grimaced. She was burning up and shivering hard, her eyes glassy and dull.

“Jus’ a little. It’s stopped for now. Jus’ had a really bad coughing fit. It hurts here,” she put her hand over her right breast, and her breath rattled on the inhale. “Came on fast, couple hours ago.”

“Okay. Okay. This is beyond me. I’m calling Linda. She’ll know what to do.”

Linda did, in fact, know what to do. In eight minutes, an ambulance was pulling up at the front door, just as Eddie had managed to pull on jeans and a sweater over her pyjamas and creep downstairs, with one hand on the wall and Jamie’s arm around her waist. The fact that she didn’t roll her eyes and cuss like a sailor was proof of just how awful she must be feeling.

“You want your overnight bag from your locker?” he asked.

She looked up and nodded, _thanks, partner,_ trying to avoid another wracking coughing spasm.

“Okay. I’ll ask Potimkin to dig it out, and I’ll bring it to you soon as I can.”

She nodded again, and gave herself over to a pair of efficient ambulance attendants, who began a quick triage and whisked her onto a stretcher with an oxygen mask within seconds. Feeling utterly helpless as the ambulance doors closed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and sent up a fast but heartfelt prayer as Eddie was driven away.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

March 19, 2017  
Reagan Table

 

“Think she’d like a care package?” his father asked, two days later, as one by one the Reagans pushed back their plates. “There’s more than enough for Nicky’s dorm parcel, Officer Janko _and_ the boys’ lunches. We should do two turkeys all the time. Great time-saver.”

“That’s a good idea,” Linda said. “I got an evening shift anyway. I can take her some food.”

Jamie grinned inwardly, glad it was his father who had made the suggestion. “I can’t imagine how she’s making out with the hospital food,” he said, “I think she’s hollow inside. You’ll know she’s getting better when she starts demanding burgers.”

“Well, she’s been on the IV antibiotics for forty-eight hours, so she should be starting to respond to them.” Linda said. “It’s good she called you when she did. Bacterial pneumonia is fast-moving and nasty. Probably saved her some scar tissue and a longer recovery, coming in right away like that.”

“You’re feeling okay, though, right, kid?” Danny eyed him from across the table. Jamie shrugged and nodded, before catching his brother’s meaning.

“ _Yes_ , I’m fine, and _no_ , I do not have any particular concern about infection,” he shot back.

“He’s grumpy because he’s not allowed to see her,” Nicky pointed out helpfully, to a chorus of “Hey!” from Erin, Frank and Linda.

“Come on, let’s clear,” sighed Sean, to his brother. “This is getting weird.”

“Right behind you,” Jamie agreed, reaching for his grandfather’s empty plate.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

March 19, 2017: Later  
Reagan Kitchen

 

After all the kids had been herded out to the cars by their mothers, and his father and grandfather were playing chess in the sitting room, Danny corralled Jamie in the kitchen with the reminder that it was his turn for some dish duty. Which was long-established Reagan family code for _nobody else come in the kitchen if it ain’t your business._ It was rare for Danny to be calling that play, but Jamie needed a big brother, and there was only one of those left. He crossed his fingers and hoped that it all came out right, because he did not have the same gift of language as Jamie did, and unlike Erin, Jamie would shut down and walk away if he felt his temper rising.

But someone had to. Maybe Dad and Pops were trying to nudge him into taking over the family talking-to regime so they could retire. He shuddered at the thought. That was Linda’s forte, just like it had been Mom’s before she passed. No way did he see himself as the chief dispenser of family advice in thirty years.

“Why won’t anyone believe I’m happy doing what I’m doing?” Jamie answered his initial inquiry, swishing suds off of a Pyrex baking dish. “Of course I know what other opportunities are out there. I thought I explained. I’ve lived in my head all my life. I need to balance that with being out in the world. I’m enjoying it still.”

“Yeah, I know, and you’re makin’ every other beat cop on your watch look bad, you and your partner.” Danny paused. “C’mon, kid. I got two eyes and they work just fine, thank you very much. You and Janko, I don’t know what sort of high-wire act you’ve worked out between the two o’ you, and I don’t need to. I mean, obviously, you two don’t lose focus on the job, or you wouldn’t keep getting so many frickin’ commendations. But if _you’re_ holding yourself back to stay partners, that’s a recipe for disaster later on, whatever else happens with you two. And if _she’s_ holding herself back to not get ahead of her own T.O. – ”

“She’s not.”

“ – Or whatever crap some of the guys dish out about bein’ with women who rank higher – ”

“I said _she’s not_ , Danny.”

“ _Okay_. You’d know better than me.”

Danny, drying a handful of forks, let his hands fall to stillness, and eyed him. There was a faint tic in Jamie’s left jaw, and his eyes – so like Joe’s, moody and changeable as the weather – were not quite meeting his, despite the honesty of his anger. What, then? Jamie and Joe had often confounded their older siblings, taking time to pick and choose their words even in fights, standing as a united front in family quarrels. And occasional fist-fights. Danny had never had to wonder if Erin was keeping anything from him, even though she had come to learn diplomacy and timing as an adult. Jamie could still shut people out, even Dad.

Not for the first time, Danny wondered what Joe would say, if he was still alive. How would Joe deal with this thing between Jamie and Eddie? What words would Jamie listen to? He hung onto that thought and turned it around some, as he pulled out a kitchen chair and parked himself at the table. Bit of detective psychology, letting Jamie feel he had the upper hand in the discussion and could walk away if he chose.

“Hey, kid, you’re not…don’t get mad, okay, I know how this sounds, but you’re not tryin’a hang onto some part of Joe still? Stayin’ in uniform to, you know, keep his tour from ending? Because you know he’d ‘a moved up a long time ago.”

Jamie finally looked him in the eye. “I’m not mad. I think maybe I have a different kind of handle on Joe than you and Erin. I mean, I feel like he’s still nearby, you know? Like I can talk to him like I always did. He’s not, like, an albatross around my neck or anything.”

“A what now?”

“An old poem. It’s a metaphor for guilt. Didn’t you do English Lit at St. Brendan’s?”

“Nah, just regular English, and there weren’t no alba-things in it.”

Jamie shrugged and pulled out a chair for himself, sitting on it sideways to face Danny.

“I’ll get you the poem. You’d like it. Old sailor who lost his faith out at sea, got saved, went crazy and killed the bird that tried to save him and his crew before finding his faith again. My point being, it’s not about keeping Joe’s tour going out of guilt or anything. But I’m not a Marine like you and Dad. I’ve never had that kind of brotherhood, or belonging, or whatever. I’ve always had to compete with everyone. With you guys, growing up, then to get my scholarship, then to _get_ into Law, let alone graduate. If Joe’s part of this, it’s because he’s someone I never had to punch above my weight class to prove myself to, just to be me, and let him be him. I don’t need to fast-track anymore. I need to stay humble and watch what people need instead of how to get ahead of them.”

Danny eyed him, and nodded slowly. That had the ring of truth, as much as he squirmed at the feeling that he’d ever caused his brother to truly doubt himself. “Father Jamie,” he said. The old nickname he and Erin used to taunt him with, back when Jamie was the golden baby brother that could do no wrong.

“Not by a long shot.”

“So, Janko?” Danny asked bluntly. “Kid, if you saw any other pair of partners acting like you two, you’d know why I keep bringing it up. If you’ve been keeping it in your pants, more power to you, but I don’t think that’s what you want. Either of you.”

“How much time do you and Linda have for each other?” Jamie returned, just as bluntly, and not without an edge. “Eddie and I are a great team. And if we get to see each other all day, doing some good, doing what we love doing, then…”

“Then why would you risk splitting up the team and maybe only seeing each other once in a while?” Danny finished. He sat back, and nodded. “I get that. I do. But here’s the thing: all that other stuff you’re so good at overthinking out of existence? Guess what, _it’s real._ It’s real, kid, and it’s something special. You two bring out the best in each other. You know who does that for me? A smart-ass Italian girl that’s on her way to work right now, after she drops off our kids. Baez is a great partner, and I’m lucky to have her, but she ain’t my Linda. Janko _is_ , though, for you. I can see it, hell, everyone can see it. You shoulda made Detective or Sergeant or gone into some operational unit a couple years ago, and Eddie should be comin’ round for dinner, not just getting leftovers when she’s laid up in hospital. I’m telling you, it’s going to turn you both bitter and start blaming each other, if one or both of you doesn’t snap out of it and make a change.”

Jamie, for once, was silent, but at least his brow was creased up, and not carefully blank.

“Whole precinct seems to think we’re sleeping together,” he said shortly. “Eddie says she doesn’t care, but she does.”

“What about you?”

“I wish it wasn’t something I need to ignore or keep shooting down. It not like we’re having some crazy affair, or doing anything we should have to deny. It’s – she’s so much more than that to me.”

Danny knew when he’d gotten a subject to blurt out his unvarnished feelings, and backed off. “Kiddo. You know we loved Syd and we felt bad for you, but Eddie ain’t no Sydney, and that’s a good thing. I’d get you to promise to think about it, but that’s your problem right there,” Danny finished. “So _do_ something, already, would you please?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

March 19, 2017: Still later.  
St. Victor’s Hospital

 

“Hey. You had any dinner yet?”

“Hey, Linda,” Eddie, tilted upwards in her hospital bed, rolled her head to the side to face her. “You just come on shift? I tried to eat, but…” she wrinkled her nose at the slimy mass congealing in a beige plastic tray, on the rolling table. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t get pureed carrots and minced chicken down. I need something solid.”

“Good. I got you some field rations. Think you can handle a real turkey dinner?” With a flourish, Linda slid one handle of her canvas bag off her shoulder and extracted a large Tupperware container from within. “Ta da!”

“Seriously!” Eddie reached for the card on top of the container, as Linda placed it on the rolling table. “Aw, and a card?”

“Let’s get you propped up first.” Eddie obediently leaned forward against Linda’s arm, while she raised the bed a few degrees and pushed a spare pillow behind her. She settled back and took a second glance at the bright gleam in the older woman’s blue eyes. “Actually, Frank suggested it. Jamie figured I could tempt your appetite with his mom’s stuffing recipe, though, so he put in plenty of that.”

“Wait. The Commissioner – ” Eddie startled, began to spasm on an inhale, and tried again, slowly. She focused on the elegant script on the envelope, and blinked. “The Commissioner of the New York Police Department sent me dinner and a get-well card?” She slid a finger under the envelope flap and withdrew a thick cream-coloured card with a hunter-green border and a monogrammed “R”.

 

_Officer Janko:_

_We were all thinking of you at our table today. With hope and prayers for your rapid recovery,_

_F. Reagan and family_

 

Eddie looked up, somewhat speechless. Linda grinned. “There are some family perks he’s happy to extend.”

"But I mean – it’s not like I got shot in the line or anything.”

“Honey. I mean _family_ perks. You think ‘cause we can’t see you round the dinner table, we don’t know you’re there?”

As Eddie floundered for a response, Linda deftly popped the lid off the Tupperware, unleashing a mouth-watering cloud of gravy-smelling steam, and locked the table in position over the bed. “There you go. Eat up while it’s still hot. Nobody, but nobody can get better on the crap they dish up here, or all that street food you cops live on. You need some proper home-cooked meals in you.” She poked again in her canvas bag, and pulled out a baggie with a knife, fork and napkin, which she quickly shook out and arranged on the table.

“Thank you. So much. This is amazing. But Linda, I - I know people talk, but really, Jamie and I, we’re not – ”

“No, I know. And don’t get the idea that Jamie talks, either. It’s what he doesn’t say that tells the real story.”

“I – ”

“You eat, I’ll talk.” Linda sat down in the visitor chair and put her bag at her feet. “First I have to make a confession:  I’m not actually on duty till later on. I’m here on a mission. And before you ask, nobody sent me. Now listen up.”

Eddie nodded slowly, and pulled the table closer.

“Don’t know if you knew, but Danny and I were high school sweethearts. He was a good kid at heart, but a hot-head who couldn’t ever sit still, you know? Just biding his time till he could get outta school and join the Marines. Erin was the same way, always itching to make things happen. They wear everything they feel on the outside, those two, and they love a good fight to clear the air. Point is, I’ve known Jamie Reagan since he was a little bitty kid. The younger two – Joe and Jamie – they were built different. They always thought things through before they said much, and they took everything so damn seriously.  You could never tease them the way Danny and Erin went at each other, ‘cause they’d carry it around inside and finally explode about it a year or two later. And maybe that’s why Joe and Jamie never talked much about the things that mean the most to them. They had to be real careful not to let anything slip out that the older two might get on them for. How’s that turkey?”

Eddie had practically inhaled the first savoury mouthfuls of turkey, real mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy, but had stalled out, staring at Linda with a deepening sense of awareness.

“Oh, it’s – it’s great. The older two, you mean they picked on Jamie?”

“Not for the sake of picking on him, but they’re a family of fighters. Danny and Erin fought out loud, against anything they saw as injustice. Jamie and Joe fought smart, to protect anyone who needed it. Danny used to say he had to toughen Jamie up before the world toughened him up, and he was too hard on him, I always said, but he was never cruel. Just up in his face a lot. He knew Jamie had five times his book-smarts and patience, and it drove him nuts that Jamie was always the good boy and Danny felt like a disappointment. Until he came back from Afghanistan with a rack of medals, and proved himself a damn good cop. _Then_ he felt like something.”

“And proposed to you?” Eddie guessed, knowing that she was deflecting, and knowing that Linda knew it too.

“Aw, we were like seventeen when he proposed to me. I only said _yes_ when he came home after his second tour, and promised not to re-up. Joining the NYPD was a compromise. It meant that we’d both be in the same city, but it also meant that we’d be apart a lot. We tried to get the same shifts, him on patrol and me here at the hospital, and it worked for a while. The plan was that he was going to try to make Detective as soon as he could, and work days only, and then I’d go to medical school. I wanted to go into Oncology, maybe teach some. I think I’d have been good at that.”

“But then the kids came along,” Eddie intuited, “and Detective hours aren’t all that predictable after all.”

"You got it,” Linda said softly. “But it’s not about the might-have-beens, honey. It’s about what’s right in front of you and what you make of it. I get you’re partners. I do. It’s a big risk. But you ever think maybe it’s a bigger risk not to see what’s there? See, I get you live on the outside and he lives on the inside, and that makes you a bit crazy sometimes. He’s used to keeping everything hidden that’s most important to him, and he needs someone to go find him. He gets this look when he says your name. _Like he’s been found._ And I haven’t seen much of you over the years, but I’ve seen it on you, too.”

Eddie gulped hard, her dinner forgotten. Tears she’d told herself she didn’t need to cry were threatening again. She’d tried to rationalize things like a good problem-solver, tried to blame Jamie, and tried to blame herself, and nothing worked.

“We did talk about it a bit,” she told Linda. “There’s just so many ways it could go wrong. Who’s to say it would even work out with us? We’re so different, whatever feelings we have. I’d lose my best friend and the best partner I can imagine. So we just…pushed it all back. And I had no idea, no idea at all that it would be even harder once we both knew. I thought it would clear the air and let us stay focused.”

“I wondered. I thought Jamie might have something to tell us, back in the winter. I’m sorry, honey.”

Eddie shook her head. “We can ignore feelings, God knows we’re good at it, but we couldn’t lie to people if there was really something going on. So we didn’t. We might have once, but then – ”

“Oh, shit,” Linda said softly. “That’s when that boy got shot, wasn’t it?”

Eddie gulped and tried to ignore the rising tears spilling over her lashes. “I heard the gunshots. I was maybe twenty feet away.”

Linda closed her eyes and crossed herself by reflex. “And those ten seconds when you didn’t know if it was him…”

_And anyone who heard me screaming Jamie’s name couldn’t have mistaken that sound for a partner’s concern._

“I didn’t want to ever work with anyone else after that,” Eddie sobbed raggedly, the memory of the day coming back freshly. “If he’s gonna trust anyone with his back, I want it to be me. But if anything ever happened to either one of us – screw judgement, there is nothing, _nothing_ I wouldn’t do if Jamie got hurt…and then they split us up anyway. I never told him. I just kept pushing him away. And yeah, I do everything on the outside. I’ve lost my person I talk to. And I can’t stay home and talk to the walls, so I just keep working, and working, and – ”

Her tears triggered a spasm, and she began choking and coughing between sobs. Linda jumped up and held her tight to give her something to lean into, and when the spasms stopped, she held Eddie like a little sister, stroking her hair back and murmuring as she finally gave way to months of tears.

 

 _For a first dose of Reagan family medicine_ , thought Linda, _that went well._


	3. Muddle Well Together

June 12, 2017  
Houston Street, NYC

 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was what they had, and they wouldn’t change it unless they were ordered to.

They’d been back riding together for a week, full of friendly overtures and earthy humor, falling all over themselves to prove that they could conduct themselves professionally, but excited as little kids. It was as easy as breathing. It was also so emotionally taxing that Eddie, still regaining her full energy after her illness, was sometimes wiped out after a normal shift. Jamie, observant as ever, never waited for her to be the one to suggest a break or to find a quieter place for drinks after tour. Somehow he made her feel taken care or without appearing to think she needed it, the bastard, she thought fondly.

They were a couple hours from calling it a day, cruising down Houston near Bowery on a perfect summer evening with the windows down when the call came over the air.

“All units. Medical emergency, FDR and Houston northbound. First-time mother in precipitous labor, on side of road. Infant transport ambulance requested. Nearby units please respond forthwith.”

“Whoa!” Eddie yelped, as a shockwave of adrenaline hit. “My first baby?”

“This’ll be four for me,” Jamie said, hitting the accelerator and his radio button at once. “Twelve-David is ten-seventeen to woman in labour, ahead of infant ambulance en route.”

“Ten-four, Twelve-David, and good luck. Mother’s name is Karen Pyne, that’s Papa-Yankee-November-Echo, aged twenty-six. Husband Jeffrey Pyne is being located at his workplace in Jersey, hotel night security officer. Hospital of choice is Bellevue, according to mother.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. “I mean, I’ve done the drills, and yeah, I’m familiar with the usual equipment and all, but this is a whole new thing for me.” Jamie was grinning like a fool, she thought, and not worried in the least. Jeez, was there a Scout badge for delivering babies, too?

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he told her. “What’s going to happen is, we get there and see how she is. If she can’t wait, we call 911 to coach us through. Soon as the ambulance arrives, we step back and they take over. Ideally, she can hang on till they get there. If not, we might be catching a baby. The main thing is –” he looked over at her quickly, “assume the best, and keep her as calm as possible. That can help slow things down. She’s going to want to see another woman, okay, so as soon as we stop, you check on her and I’ll grab the med kit from the boot.”

“A woman who’s never had a baby, and only held maybe two or three?”

“Trust me, it doesn’t matter. It’s not sexist, it’s just a thing. Imagine you’re there on the side of the road going into labor. Who would you be more reassured by seeing, you or me? Oh, that must be her. Twelve-David, Central. Arrived ten-twenty. Standby for status.”

Eddie realized her mouth was hanging open at the very thought, but she snapped into action as Jamie pulled up behind a silver Sorento SUV with its hazard lights flashing.

She hopped out of the car and jogged towards the open side door. A strikingly beautiful redheaded woman in a sleeveless cotton nightie was sitting sideways on the back seat, her poor swollen feet in sandals, resting on the runner bar. Her eyes were closed and she sat hunched over a darkly soaked patch on the seat. She was panting quietly, rubbing at one side of her belly with her free hand, while the other clutched the back of the seat, where she had thrown a beige raincoat. She must have quite literally grabbed her coat and run to the car, Eddie thought with a pang. How scared she must be.

There was a cellphone on the floor of the SUV, and the 911 operator was assuring Mrs. Pyne that help was coming.

“They’re here now,” the woman managed to say.

“Mrs. Pyne? I’m Eddie. The ambulance is on its way, and my partner Jamie and I are here to help you, okay?”

Karen’s eyes opened and Eddie felt unworthy of the raw relief in her face. “Thank God,” she managed, through clenched teeth. “Week early. Went from zero to five minutes apart in an hour, but I thought I’d have time – _ah! God_.” Her face contorted again, and she leaned forward.

Eddie reached to cover Karen’s free hand, and spoke soothingly. “Okay. Breathe now. You’ve done Lamaze breathing, right? Okay. Breathe with me. It’s going to be fine. Jamie’s done deliveries before, if we have to. You’ll love him. He’s, like, the nicest Boy Scout Uncle ever, and he’s totally used to kids.” She was rambling, but Karen was responding, holding her eyes and even quirking a corner of her mouth. Jamie slipped up quietly beside them, already gloved and carrying the med kit.

“Karen, I’m Jamie. Gonna be a piece of cake. Let’s time this. Eddie, before you glove up, can you call 911 back on speaker. They’ll relay everything to the ambulance attendants and coach us through if we need.”

“Abby – ” Karen managed to say, the fierce contraction easing with a shudder and a ripple “Abby West – “

“Abby Westlake?” Jamie said. “She’s your midwife?”

“You know her?” Karen asked, surprised, as Eddie connected with the emergency operator.

“I sure do. She caught both my nephews. My sister in law can’t sing her praises enough. You want to talk to her?”

“Please. Number’s in my phone. Wanted her for this. Don’t think there’s time.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jamie agreed, as Karen grimaced and swore softly, clenching the headrest of the seat. “They’re getting pretty intense now, yeah? I think you’re going into transition. You feeling like you need to push? Okay. Don’t worry. Safer to do this here, now. We got this. We got you.”

Within seconds, the emergency operator and Abby Westlake were coming through on Eddie’s and Karen’s cellphones, side by side on the floor of the SUV so they, too, could hear each other. Jamie clambered into the vehicle and took up a position behind Karen, so she could lean back against him with her full weight, at a somewhat useful angle, and he could coach her through the directions from the experts.

So it fell to Eddie, who had precisely no experience of childbirth, but whose hands were small and strong and gentle, to check Karen’s progress and to be the eyes for the emergency operator and the midwife. In controlling her own breathing to stay focussed and report each new stage, she realized they were all breathing in unison, she, Jamie and Karen, drawn together in this unlikeliest of meetings. Time seemed to stretch out and unravel as Karen bore down and paused to rest, with Jamie telling her how strong she was, how she was doing everything just right. Whatever scenes Eddie had envisioned, of bloody tearing or screaming or babies in dire trouble bore no relation to this experience. Karen was in the grip of a sort of a demanding, exacting force that she met with equal power and resilience. The baby _was_ coming just right, easing her way down in measured stages and turning with a kind of dignified grace.

“That’s – that’s her head all the way out,” she heard herself say to Karen, to the operator, the midwife, Jamie, to any spirits attending on this tiny girl making her way into the world. She felt her heart pounding and a choked-up elation squeezing her chest. “Oh! She’s so hot. She’s good and pink. Lots of hair. Yes, that’s right, cord’s pulsing. I’ve got my finger under it now. No, nothing around her neck. Yes. I’ve got the towel ready. Whoa, is that a shoulder? That was fast. Okay, yup, pressing down. Oh, my God, that’s it! Karen, she’s here!”

She was glad the midwife had warned her to have the towel ready over her arm, because the baby slid down with a wriggle and a rush of birthing fluids, and Eddie let out an instinctual cry as she caught her and gathered her up. Karen groaned and fell back against Jamie, panting and sweat-soaked in the summer night.

She hadn’t even heard the sirens, but suddenly the ambulance was upon them, its light bar capturing the three of them in a snapshot-like instant: Karen, half-crying, half-laughing, her arms reaching out, Eddie, unaware of the tears coursing down her cheeks or the wisps escaped from her bun, leaning towards her with a tiny bundle in her gloved hands, and Jamie, gazing at her with such a look of pride and warmth that her heart felt like jumping out of her ribs.

 

*  *  *  *  *

June 12, 2017: Later  
Bellevue Hospital, NYC

 

“I feel like I’m high or something,” Eddie admitted, unable to sit down or stand still. The Pyne family – Karen, Jeffery and little Stacey - were safely ensconced in the Natural Birth Center of Bellevue hospital. Abby Westlake had met them at the hospital, along with the Pyne’s obstetrician. After seeing her clients settled, she had come to sit beside Jamie in the waiting room, grinning broadly as Eddie paced back and forth.

“It never goes away. I’ve been doing this twenty-seven years, and it never goes away,” she said. “You two did a fantastic job. And what a beautiful night to be born under the stars”

“The baby’s okay, though?” Jamie asked.

“Totally fine. Healthy little girl, just in a big hurry to get born. And speaking of hurry, how are Linda’s boys growing up?”

“Jack’s looking at colleges already. Sean’s not far behind.”

“This boy,” said Abby, patting Jamie’s arm, “this boy was a lifesaver, you know? He suddenly went from being the littlest brother to the most responsible teenaged uncle you ever saw.”

“How am I not surprised?” Eddie replied, still pacing. “Responsibility is a very big deal with this one.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jamie pointed out.

“No, really,” Abby said, “You took to babies in a way that most young men wouldn’t think of. Your brother was a fast learner, but you have a natural knack. Remember when you were the only one that could get Sean to sleep when he was teething, even when his ear got infected?”

“I couldn’t possibly forget,” Jamie returned. “My arm still has a permanent bend in it, look.”

Eddie realised she had stopped pacing, and was staring out of the large picture window overlooking the street from the fourth storey. The night was deepening – it must be near midnight – and their tour had been over for an hour or more. She registered that she was starving, and on any normal night, she and Jamie would soon be grabbing a late dinner and saying goodnight. But this wasn’t a normal night. She had witnessed something majestic and visceral, and been part of bringing a new human into the world instead of trying to prevent or deal with someone leaving it.

And suddenly Jamie no longer seemed to her a sweet, earnest people-helper and too good a friend to simply work off an itch with, but a rock-solid young family man who was only lacking a family of his own. The best person she had ever met had once again unintentionally caused her to question everything she’d assumed about her relationships.

Best friend? Hell yes. Everyone knew it, and if she was honest with herself, she was pretty proud of that, and especially that it was mutual. Jamie made her feel like she was worth a great deal to the world, not just him.

Girlfriend? Not off the table by any means. And after both of their recent dating fiascos, neither seemed at all interested in seeing anyone else. Wife and mother? _Yikes._ It wasn’t as though she intended to party her way past thirty and into forty, but she didn’t have much of a basis for thinking of family as the ideal social unit. Until recently. If and Jamie ever decided to make anything official, they would not be playing around.

It was one thing to know that whatever she and Jamie had between them was something real and special. It was another to have a possible future highlighted in such stark relief, and to even consider projecting herself into it.

If she had been confused and seeking clarity before, the clarity that now demanded a response was downright scary.


	4. A Measure of Bourbon

July 9, 2017.  
Reagan kitchen

 

“How was the baby’s baptism?” Erin asked, as they chopped and peeled in companionable rhythm. Jamie grinned. That was low down on the list of Erin’s questions, and they both knew it.

“Really nice. They had it at the Basilica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral. And you know what – they gave her Eddie’s middle name for her baptismal name. She’s officially Stacey Marie Pyne.”

“Oh!” Nicky sighed, appearing from the hallway. She leaned against the kitchen table and stole a slice of cucumber. “That’s so sweet. How’d Eddie feel about that?”

“Little overwhelmed. I mean, the whole thing was pretty intense. For all of us.”

“They didn’t ask her to be Godmother?” Nicky went on. Erin flashed her a look. “What? Wouldn’t that make sense? She really was like a Fairy Godmother.”

Jamie considered this. “Well, it’s a nice thought, sure. But for starters, that’s usually something you ask someone who your kid can rely on for, you know, spiritual guidance. Mentorship. Eddie’s not exactly Catholic, or any religion, far as I can tell. I mean, her parents left Serbia to escape all the religious violence. Plus, I don’t think she’d have felt up to taking on a role like that for someone she really doesn’t know except for the one thing. Big as it was.”

“Oh,” Nicky said. “Right. But doesn’t being a female cop in this city make her a good role model and mentor?”

“Sure,” said Erin firmly, passing Jamie the soda bread to slice, “But mentoring in the faith is different from mentoring in a career, or being a strong female role model.”

“Well, but that’s only because of Church leadership being a few centuries behind reality,” Nicky groused, earning herself a poke between the shoulder blades from her mother.

“It’s not about that. It’s about having a lifetime of faith to pass down. And I don’t see _you_ as a priest, somehow,” Jamie teased her. “You get way too riled up.”

“Aren’t a lot of priests activists?” his niece demanded.

“Yes,” he replied, “but they’re priests first. Rule of Obedience. Forever. Even your mom and I have more latitude than that at work.”

“Honey, can you go round up Grandpa and Pops and tell them we’re five minutes away from dinner?” Erin asked her, forestalling another round.

“Oh, fine, have your talk without me.”

Jamie watched Nicky head out of the room, and caught a familiar wrinkle of his sister’s brow. “I’m glad she has cousins,” he said, “But I can see she could use a big sister sometimes. Is that what this is about, all this Eddie-worship recently?”

“She thinks it’s too tragically romantic, the pair of you,” Erin told him, “And the story about that baby has sent her right over into fantasyland. But she brought up a couple of good points there. I’ve never asked, but is faith something that’s a dividing line between you?”

He didn’t answer right away, lifting out the carving set from the kitchen drawer. “Not especially,” he said. “But it’s never come up.”

“She knows you come to church regularly, though.”

“Hard to miss that. What do you really want to know?”

“I just worry about our faith, sometimes. I mean, you and me in particular. Some cops find a lot of comfort in faith. But you and me, we don’t deal in absolutes, and we don’t have a lot of confidence in _faith_ as a universal force, whatever good there is to be found in being Catholic. I guess I figured you were a pretty devout believer, when you and Syd were together, and I don’t feel that as much these days. And I wondered if that was a function of the job or something else.”

“Syd liked to be seen in her family’s church pew,” Jamie said drily, as Erin untied her kitchen apron and tugged her blouse back into place. “Look, this is not the house to be having this conversation in. Let’s talk more after dinner, okay? Can we go to your place?”

“Of course.”

 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

July 9, 2017: Later  
Erin’s living room

 

“Mom, can I?”

"I suppose I can’t stop you,” Erin sighed. As if she could ever stop Nicky doing anything she’d decided to do. It was more down to Nicky’s inherent smarts than her parenting that Nicky had avoided many of her own bumps and scuffles growing up. That, and not having three brothers to out-do on a daily basis. “You’re legal in all fifty states. But this is strong stuff, I warn you. Maybe try a sip of mine and – ”

“Nah, I prefer ice. One finger over two ice.” Nicky said. “Like Uncle Danny.”

"Uncle Danny’s is two fingers over one ice,” Jamie corrected her, before Erin could launch an inquisition. “You’re thinking of Pops. Your mom and grandpa think ice dilutes the flavour, but some of us like it cold.”

“There’s these things called whiskey stones now,” Nicky said brightly. “Like stainless steel cubes you freeze ahead.”

Erin shook her head in resignation and sat back against the sofa cushions. “There are worse things than having a daughter to share my good scotch with, I suppose. Go get yourself a glass.”

Nicky grinned and got up. When she returned, she carried her drink in a tumbler, as well as the cookie tin, which she handed off to Jamie, before coming to curl up against her side, “Gilmore Girls-style”, as she called it.

“So what were you guys talking about before dinner?” she asked, “Since we’re all grown ups here now.” She raised her glass to them both and smirked.

Erin glanced at Jamie, who shrugged, helped himself to a ginger snap and looked innocent.

“Church,” he said. “Matters of faith.”

“Or not,” Erin said, carefully. Nicky looked shocked.

“Mom. You, having a crisis of faith?”

“There’s faith as in the whole religion, and faith as in – as in an actual force that can change things,” she said.

“But isn’t ‘by faith’, like, a major part of the whole being-Catholic thing?”

“Yes, it is.” she said.

“Yes,” agreed Jamie, “It is. But you know that no two people are ever going to believe in the exact same things for the exact same set of reasons, even if they can agree on a statement of _what_ they believe.”

“Right. I get that. But how is that a problem, if everyone can just agree on that statement?”

“Because wars have broken out over less. And if faith could really effect such real change in the world as we are taught to believe,” Erin stroked her daughter’s hair, “Then you’d think that this family, in particular, would have less reason to have to go out and fight the good fight every day. Generation after generation after generation.”

Nicky thought hard, and took one of those lateral leaps that could some day, Erin thought, make her a damn good detective. Relentless but creative, and unafraid of getting up in people’s faces to get the truth. If she didn’t get called onto the mat every other day for a reprimand.

“We were talking about Eddie, and then got onto church stuff,” Nicky said slowly. “And now we’re onto generations of us believing, or not, in faith. Are you worried about if me and Jack and Sean have faith in faith? Or that if Eddie and Uncle Jamie ever got married and had kids, that they might not be raised Catholic at all?”

“Hey, whoa,” Erin remonstrated, but her baby brother held up his hand.

“Or anyone, in the future.” He said quietly. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that. I’m trained as a lawyer and I’m a damn good cop. That means I’m really good at seeing through bullshit and not believing what people tell me unless I have hard evidence. Some people with that kind of legal background find a lot of comfort, even answers, in their faith, but I don’t think I am one. I’m certainly no atheist. I just don’t think any one cookie tin of wisdom has all the answers. Not anymore.” He finished, passing the tin to Erin.

“Which is, if you think about it, the definition of “Catholic”,” said Erin, munching, “All-encompassing. All-embracing.”

“Huh.” Nicky took a sip of her drink and breathed out very slowly. “What would Grandpa and Pops do if you decided to raise non-Catholic kids?”

“I can’t imagine,” Jamie admitted. “But I think I’d probably send them to Catholic schools anyway, because of the education, and I think I’d want to send them to church and Sunday School for a while, at least, until they could decide. There’s really nothing like the community of a church like we go to. I mean, think of all those memories that go back decades. Not to mention having a connection to the art, and music, and literature. But that said, if all that was a deal-breaker to someone, it wouldn’t necessarily be a deal-breaker for me. And if I had kids and they wanted out, I wouldn’t stand in their way.”

“Would you have let me stop going to church, if I said I didn’t believe in it?” Nicky asked her. Erin sighed.

“I don’t know, sweetie. I really don’t. But I think that’s because of what Uncle Jamie said: it’s been just you and me since your dad and I split up, and I’ve really needed the support and company of the community who’ve known me my whole life. Sometimes family is about standing by each other even if you don’t believe a hundred percent that someone’s right.”

“Yup. Sometimes family is more about accepting the differences than anything.”

“Uncle Jamie, do you and Eddie talk like this?”

“Not much,” Jamie admitted. “It’s pretty deep stuff for patrol car talk. And we usually need to just blow off steam and decompress after work.”

“Well. Maybe you should,” said Nicky, in the same tone that Erin had heard her father use in giving sage counsel, after listening to all sides. “Talking about the baby’s baptism would be a great place to start, don’t you think? And then maybe ask about her dream wedding…”

“Such an old-fashioned romantic, for an up-and-coming feminist,” Erin teased. Nicky took another sip of her drink and grinned.

“You could do with a bit of romance yourself, Mom.”

Jamie laughed at her expression. “I think that’s my cue,” he said. “I got an early tour. Don’t drink your mother under the table, Nicky, she has work tomorrow, too, even if you’re on break.”

"Oh, Nicky’s coming with me,” Erin said firmly. “Isn’t that right? Someone here landed a summer gig as a legal research assistant. If I go in hung over, honey, you go in hung over. Since we’re all grown ups now, right?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

July 22, 2017  
Reagan House, Exterior.

 

“It won’t be weird?” Eddie asked, peering out the car window at the stately brick home on the corner lot. “I mean, people already think I’ve got a hook on the Commissioner, ‘cause of you, and now I’m visiting his house off duty.”

“Oh, totally weird. Dad and Pops sit around in their ginch telling war stories and singing drunken army songs all night.” Jamie told her, deadpan. She looked aghast for a moment, until he snickered, and she smacked his arm. “C’mon, I’m just dropping off food for tomorrow. Wait for me here or come in, it’s up to you, but I know Dad wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “But you know how this looks.”

“Looks aren’t everything.”

She sent him an eyebrow and grabbed one the grocery bags from the back seat. Jamie reached for the other, and suddenly she was walking up the front path of Jamie’s childhood home, the place that framed his earliest memories of who he was. It felt awfully intimate, she thought, though she’d met them all several times before, and she was, after all, Jamie’s partner on the job.

The door opened, and Frank Reagan, in corduroy trousers, button-down plaid and a big, comfortable cardigan, stood aside to let them pass.

“Jamie,” he nodded. “Officer Janko. Good to see you. All healed up now? I had pneumonia once. Left me wheezing for months after.”

“Yes, sir, I’m fine, thank you,” she said, her hand disappearing into his paw. The Commissioner laughed.

“Just Frank, while we’re off duty, please. D’you mind my calling you ‘Eddie’?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Jamie, get those bags into the kitchen and get the lady a drink. What will you have, Eddie?”

“Ah – that’s nice of you, Dad, but we have to get back.”

Frank pursued them through the beautiful hardwood foyer and into the bright kitchen. “Have an early tour? It’s Sunday tomorrow.”

“No, but – ”

“Got plans for a night on the town, then?”

“No,” Jamie sighed, knowing it was a losing battle. Eddie eyed both of them, setting her grocery bag on the kitchen table.

“Don’t look at me,” she said, “I don’t even have any cats to feed.”

“Good.” Frank rumbled. “Scotch, cold beer or wine?”

“Scotch,” Jamie muttered to her, very low.

“Scotch,” Eddie said. “Thank you.”

Frank beamed at her. “Oh, good,” he said, and left them to put away the parcels.

“This isn’t too weird?” Jamie asked her quietly, as they moved easily around each other.

“No, it’s…I like him. He’s nice.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Guess I have a reflex reaction about fathers, still,” she admitted. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t been introduced to any in a really long time.”

Jamie leaned back against the cabinets and gave her that thoughtful look. “Is that really why?” he asked.

“I…sort of? Maybe friends’ families in general. I don’t have that great a history with mine. As you know.”

“Well,” he told her, hands in his pockets “I’m just sayin’, I got plenty to share.”

She blinked. “What exactly _are_ you saying, Reagan?”

“Nothing you don’t want to hear from me right now,” he replied, holding her eyes, “But just as much as you do want.”

He sounded very certain. Her stomach did that flippy thing that he still made her feel after four years of near-constant companionship. She realized that the only thing she’d kept around that long was her car.

She was glad when Frank called them into the sitting room.

“I hear you carry a good line in war stories,” she told him. _  
_


	5. A Splash of Water

August 3, 2017.  
NYPD Unit 12-D, NYC

 

“I gotta say, I think the dad’s got this by the wrong handle,” Jamie said. “I get that Coach Segura may have gone over and above his responsibilities, but all he was trying to do was keep two kids safe.”

“I know,” Eddie sighed, finishing her coffee before they went back on patrol. She glared out the car window at the stonework façade of the YMCA pool they were parked beside. “But the boys are only sixteen. It’s not up to a swim coach to guide them in the ways of gay relationships in the modern era,” she quoted the Director’s acid commentary.

“The whole thing’s sad,” Jamie said. “I mean, if nobody had said anything until the kids were of age and away at college, no harm, no foul.”

“At least until they got disowned by one or both fathers,” Eddie said sourly, “Based on their reactions thus far. But yes, they’d have no reason to launch a criminal complaint and get a good and innocent man fired.”

“Barred from teaching or being around kids forever, if Gary’s father has his way.”

“Gary’s father will not have his way,” Eddie snapped. “Because Gary’s father is an intolerant idiot who, luckily, doesn’t write the laws that we enforce. Gary’s father doesn’t deserve such a great kid for a son.”

_I love you so much when you’re like this_ , Jamie thought at her, hardly for the first time

Coach Segura, Gary and Keith had assured the two officers, was the one adult they could talk to openly about their relationship, and they considered him a confidant and counsellor. Coach had noticed what was going on between them, had let them know that he himself had realized he was gay at the same age, and that he had been in a relationship with his partner for fifteen years. He made sure that nobody harassed them, and later, gave them sound advice on safe and good sex.

“He might have gotten away with the safe-sex talk,” Jamie said, “But giving advice on good sex was what got him in the most trouble.”

“True. Which is ridiculous and antiquated thinking. They’re the same damn thing. And it’s not like they teach How To Be A Teenage Gay Guy in high school. Where would their dads prefer they got their information from?”

“I know, I know. Believe me, after thirteen years in Catholic school, I know.”

“Oh, you must’ve been just chomping at the bit.”

“Well, not for the guys, personally,” he grinned wickedly. “Nah, I was too deep into studying for my scholarship. I figured girls would happen later, and they did. See, there’s advantages to taking time to read medical texts and getting to know older girls in class ‘cause of AP credits. Came in all sorts of handy.”

“Whoa, Reagan!” she grinned approvingly, “You confess all your hands-on research? Listen to this,” she said, more softly, riffling through a folder of interview notes, “Didja get this bit where Keith talked about them getting together? It’s the sweetest thing you ever heard. He says it was just like an old-fashioned romance, with ice cream dates and reading out loud to each other, going for long walks by the river at sunset and calling each other to make sure they were both home safe. Do they not sound like the sort of boys you just wish your kid would bring home for dinner?”

Jamie considered. “Well, maybe if I had a son and he happened to be gay. Not sure a daughter of mine would get much more than ice cream and some fresh air out of the deal.”

Eddie looked for something to throw at him, and settled for a pout. “You know what I mean.” She took a harder look at him. “You didn’t even blink.”

“You didn’t throw anything.”

“No, I mean – having a gay son. You didn’t even pause to think about it. I don’t know a single straight cop who doesn’t go all macho or try to brush it off as a hypothetical. Unless they actually have a son who’s gay.”

“Well, I can promise you, I don’t have any sons, gay or not, but I’d be way more concerned with what kind of person they were growing up to be, and whether they were with someone who was actually good for them.”

“Huh.” Eddie sat back and regarded him.

“Huh, what?”

“You really have thought about this. What kind of a parent you’d want to be.”

“Sure, yeah. Haven’t you?”

“Sometimes. Mostly in terms of what not to do. I didn’t have your parental advantages growing up.”

“Knowing what you don’t want to do is a legit place to start,” he said seriously. “Not gonna bust you for that.” They drove in silence for a few blocks, pausing at a crosswalk to let a gaggle of summer day-camp kids in matching hats cross the street.

“Hey, Eddie. What’s something you might see yourself doing with a kid of your own that age? Something you never got to do?”

“About ten?” She took a breath. “Honestly? Musicals. Imagine the look on a little girl’s face the first time she saw a real, live, big-budget Broadway musical.” She looked at him. “I never told anyone that. Nobody ever asked.”

“That’s awesome.” He could picture it all too clearly. Eddie and a miniature Eddie, equally excited and trying to play it cool, one holding tight to each of this arms in the jostling box office crowd on a summer evening much like this. He felt a genuine pang, tempered with reminders to play it cool himself. _But what if it could happen?_

“You won’t tell, though, right?” she asked.

“Your secret is safe with me, Ariel.”

Glare. “Shut up and drive, mister.”

His punishment, after shift, was to watch “The Little Mermaid” with her, back at her place. The joke was on her, though, because as Erin’s little brother, he’d listened to it on repeat for nearly a year. Later on, as Nicky’s uncle, he’d used it as a bribe more than once to get her to bed on time, and could quote it almost as accurately as Eddie. It was idiotically fun, filling in each character’s awful unspoken thoughts to make her howl in dismay, and nearly turned into a tickle war, which was quickly forestalled because there was no damn way it would end there.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

August 3, 2017: Later  
Eddie’s place

 

She walked him out to the street after the movie, rather quieter than usual, and decided to keep walking with him to the subway. Halfway there, she stopped, and he took a half-step to turn and face her. His eyes scanned hers, wheels turning behind the calm surface. She reached out to hook an index finger into his, and he squeezed it reassuringly as she took a breath.

_We’ve been here before…_

_I’ll be spoiled forever…_

“D’you wanna maybe go out for a sundae after work tomorrow?” she asked, her words tumbling out. This was ridiculous. Men were no mystery, and she had plenty of experience under her belt, so to speak. She had no trouble bringing home a date if the feeling was mutual, so why on earth should her heart be thumping over a family-friendly dessert in broad daylight?

_Because this is Jamie, and this is real and it matters probably more than anything else ever._

He cracked a grin and was about to say something to rile her up, but she was watching his eyes, and she saw the moment when it all clicked together. He took a breath, and looked down, and for a moment her heart twinged in dismay. Then he squeezed again, slipped his fingers through hers, and looked back up at her.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Really?”

_Really, partner? Are we gonna do this? Go public, deal with it all, see what happens?_

“Really, Ed.”

A goofy grin crinkled up on her face. “Oh,” she said softly.

He laughed. “ _Oh,_ ” he agreed. He took her hand in his and spun her around in a graceful two-step on the street, till they faced the subway again. He looked good a little dazed, she thought, amused, as they started walking. She tugged his hand until he looked down at her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, where it had always just fit. She snuck an arm around his waist and held onto his belt loop, and he nuzzled into her hair. A tingly shiver ran down her spine and she took a long, slow inhale.

“Happy, Eddie?” he asked.

“It has been a long-ass time coming, but – yes. I think this is happy.”

Good lord, it was true what people said about colors being brighter and the world seeming like a more hopeful place. Because there were hot bad-boys, there were beautiful fucked-up men, there were hard-rocking lonely dudes, and then there was Jamie Reagan.

“Call me when you get home?” she asked, when they got to the station. He swept the hair back from her face and nodded.

“I will,” he said, and there was a promise of far more than that in his voice.

They’d kissed before, but this was different. It took her a moment to recognize what was happening, as she felt herself melting into the solid warmth of him in a manner _surely_ unbecoming of a cynical lady cop who’d had her share of princes and frogs. Kissing Jamie, till now, had just sort of happened, in a welter of confounding, crossed emotions, but this was something new and heady and as simple as daylight. For all she’d dug under the layers and found Jamie when he needed to be found, he’d worn away at her tough shell, too, and reminded her of what she’d kept hidden underneath.

She closed her eyes, kissed him back softly – and then dove back in, rather less softly – and felt the old-fashioned tingles from her scalp right down to her toes.


	6. Finish with a Twist

August 6, 2017  
All over the damn place

Just see where this goes for a couple of weeks, he’d suggested, nothing too fast. Give them time to breathe and get used to being together, before making it official and cluing in the brass.

“Couple _weeks_?” she replied, exasperated, reaching up to nuzzle and taste the spot she'd found under his ear, that made him swallow and derail his train of thought.

“We’ve waited four years. Think we can wait a bit more?”

“I guess.”

“C’mon. It’ll be all the better when we have a full forty-eight off together. I wanna take you dancing again,” he murmured softly, tugging her back down to kiss her again, slow and searching and sweet.

She couldn’t argue with that. She couldn’t argue with much of anything he said, when he was sprawled underneath her on her couch like the most responsive ergonomic cushion ever. “Bet you break before I do,” she muttered, her leg sliding between his like she was just getting herself more comfortable. His eyes glittered stormily at her and the nerves under her skin zinged as his clever fingers drew light patterns up her sides.

Oh, it’s on.

It’s carefully professional chatter in between glances and grins in the patrol car, and hushed phone calls between apartments as they wind down to sleep away the day until the night shift, and the tightening anticipation of a whole two days of nothing but sex and food, and then it’s polite, borderline chivalrous Jamie dressed only in his off-duty jeans on a Tuesday afternoon, crowding her up against the windowsill in the men’s change room, one hand tangled in her hair, kissing her rough and hungry and needy with _like a hundred cops walking right past the fucking door_ , and how could she have known _this_ was what he’d been keeping hidden under wraps? Those strong arms locked around her like they were forged to fit, his unquiet growl when she skims her fingertips over his super-sensitive nipples and her hips shift up against him by reflex, his sly grin when she gasps and pulls back to check the door over his shoulder?

“You’re crazy,” she huffs, panting. She’s practically levitating from the aching intimacy of his heartbeat thumping away under her palms, and the clutch of his hands under her t-shirt, just twitching to slide down to grab her ass. Boyish? No. Blistering hot? Approaching fast.

“Don’t see you complaining.”

“Didn’t say I was. Jesus, Jamie. Lemme go. This is not the place to get caught.”

“Guess not, huh?” Grin. Cheeky bastard.

He slides his hands back to hook loosely in the waist of her jeans. She makes a hasty dash at her telltale hair and smirks up at him before sidling out under his arm _. Mm, turned-on Jamie scent._ She opens the door a crack and the white noise of the corridor rushes in. As she slips out between passers-by, she glances back, to see him finger-swipe his lower lip dry with an expression that’s gonna play on repeat in her head till he gets to her apartment after shift.

 

*  *  *  *  *

September 4, 2017  
NYPD 12th Precinct

 

A memo:

* * *

 

Attn: Sgt. A. Renzulli  
From: Officers Reagan J _60528_ and Janko E _68921_  
Date: September 4, 2017  
Re: Ongoing Patrol Guide Violations

Sergeant,

We, the abovesigned, submit that we, in full awareness of the NYPD Patrol Guide and department protocols intended to safeguard the citizens of New York and the professional reputation of the New York Police Department, have fallen madly in love.

We tried, we really did.

We respectfully request reassignment to different partners. And we would really like your blessing, Tony, because you’ve been way ahead of us all along.

Sincerely,  
Jamie and Eddie

* * *

 


End file.
